The Rise to Power
by KaftarNight53
Summary: A son of one of the most powerful forces in this world must fight to save it from the rising Power, The Devil. Along with help from Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, he must kill the Devil and save the world.


**YOU MUST READ THIS IF YOU WANT TO UNDERSTAND THE STORY! This is going to be a wierd story, I will just point that out now. This isn't exacly a Percy Jackson story, but it does have a lot of the same ideas, and many of the same characters, including Percy and Annabeth. There are three levels of the mythology in my story, One God the most powerful, 5 Titans that control five main parts of nature next most powerful, and 11 olympians (leaving out Hestia Apollo and Artemis). There are also Demons. The Devil is most powerful, the 5 Arch-Demons, and the 11 Demons. There is a constant war between Heaven and Hell. The main character is a guy named Kaftar Smith. Review.**

**KaftarNight**

Chapter 1

Kaftar

Even before I ran away when I was eight, I was constantly attacked by strange creatures. Demons from my Aunt May's stories, creatures that terrorized men from the begginning of time. I would know, they killed many of my loved ones throughout the years. From the time that I could walk, I knew that I was different. While all of my friends were learning to walk, I could run. By the age of five I was able to run a full obsticle course in a time that would have astounded many adults. But few people have seen this talent because of what they might do. Many people would try to get attention, or try to use me so they could make money, but my sweet mother would never do that. She was the only one who seemed to understand what I was, an outcast.

She was the most beautiful person I have ever known. Her silky golden hair almost reached waist. Like me, she was great at obstacle courses, and marathons. She could run for hours with no breaks, and no water. She only ran at night. It was her favorite time of the day, I don't know why. I guess it reminds her of my father. She met him at a drive-in movie theater somewhere in south Houston. When I asked her about it, she would always tell me that it was love at first sight.

By the age of six I had little to no friends, I spent my weekends at home with my sweet mother. I would help her with the housework, and on the farm. She wasn't afraid of hard work, she knew that the only way you could get anywhere in life was to was the only one that worked on the farm, besides a couple of others that she paid to help her. My father died before I was born. I don't have any memories of him, but I dream that I would one day meet him. She tells me that it's not a dream, and I will meet him some day. She tells me stories about him all the time, like the time they went swimming in that lake with the full moon shining brightly overhead. She took me to that lake many times, and I could almost see them holding hands while breaking the glassy surface. And it makes me smile.

Everything changed when I was six years old. I was attacked again. I was scared and I didn't know what to do. I was vulnerable and defensless, my sweet mother stepped up, even though I begged her not to. She found a shotgun from inside the house, and shot the thing at least eight times. I was so proud of my mother on that day, proud to say that I am her son, proud to say that I loved her and she loved me back. She eventualy ran out of ammunition, and in one big swipe of the thing's paw, my mother lay helpless on the ground, blood gushing out of the four claw marks on her chest. I remember looking around desperately for anything that could help. My eyes fell on a kitchen knife. I scooped it up and approached the roaring beast, tears pouring down my face. It lunged and I sidestepped, swinging the knife. It's eyes widened as the knife cut through his neck. As fast as the fight began, it was over. I ran to my mother, lying on the ground. A pool of blood rushing past me. I picked her head up in my arms.

"Be brave," she told me. "No man left behind."

Tears were free falling from my eyes as she spoke these last words to me. "I love you mom, please don't go," I said through an ocean of tears.

"I love you, be safe my son..." she said her last words before her hand slackened and her eyes shut. I knelt by my mother's lifeless body for hours, sobbing.

Eventualy, the police showed up. The first thing they saw when they entered the home was me kneeling in a pool of blood, my mother's lifeless form in my arms, and my head in the crook of her neck, sobbing. Some accused me of killing my mother, but most didn't think that a six year old boy would be capable of killing his mother, so I was sent to an orphanage somewhere outside of Houston. The people that ran the place were vile, creul people, staying there was more like slavery than an orphanage. The only small piece of that place that I can look back on without gagging was the night. It had always been my favorite part of the day, and not because it was my mother's. For some reason, unexplainable to me then, I always had more energy at night. The view was breathtaking. The stars were almost always out, telling their stories and their legends. The small stream that ran close to the tall white building looked glassy, but the moon was the best part. Always changing, always beautiful, it shone through the night. I could sit for hours on that roof, staring at the sight. That is the only thing I miss about that vile, creul place.

Half a year after they brought me to the orphanage, I ran away. I felt like an outcast, I had no friends, nobody wanted to talk to me, so I ran. I ran all over the place. I ran east, I ran west, north and south. Eventualy, I found the church. The priest there, Mr. Evans, was so nice to me. He taught me about God, He taught me about the bible. He gave me a home, he was more of a father to me than anyone I've ever known. He became my family, the only one I have known since my mothers death. He truly cared for my safety. And for the first time in a while, I was happy.

Mr. Evans used to take me places where I could actualy forget about the ghosts that haunted me day and night, my mother, my aunt, some of my old friends. They always had a way of finding me, but when I was with Mr. Evans at some stupid carnival having the time of our lives, those ghosts seemed to get lost. He was a big, burly man with dark, close cropped hair and a voice that was deeper than a base, but somehow powerfull. He was the only familt that I have left.

It was a beautiful September day, It was the second worst day of my life. It was my birthday, It was the worst birthday I have ever had. Mr. Evans and I were going to have a great time, we were planning to go out to eat. At that time, Longhorn Steakhouse was my favorite restaurant, and we didn't get to go very often, so we saved it for special occasions like this one. It was just after dinner (which was awesome by the way). It was dark outside, the only light was the moon lighting up the dark road. We were walking back to the car, which was just down the block from the restaurant. I remember looking down an alley and seeing glowing eyes. Red, like the deepest pits of hell. Mr. Evans's eyes widened when he saw what lay in front of us. It looked kinda like a firetruck in the shape of a dog, It's teeth looked like giant knives and it's black fur was matted and bloodstained.

"Run," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"I wont leave you here," I replied, remembering my mother's last words from two years ago.

His face hardened, and he pulled a glowing bronze dagger out from his jacket. "Go, now," he ordered. When he looked at me, I could see his eyes begging me to go. I nodded, taking a slow step backwards. I turned and ran, and the thing launched itself at me, but Mr. Evans stepped in beween us, slashing at the thing with his knife. The thing roared at him, opening it's jaws and showing it's razor sharp fangs.

There was a loud crash from behind me, I reeled around, bringing my fists up, ready to fight off anything else that threatened Mr. Evans life. Instead of some monster, I saw a boy and girl running towards the monster. The girl was holding a glowing dagger, like the one Mr. Evans had. The other pulled what looked like a pen out of his pocket. Before I could wonder what he was going to do with a pen, it elongated into a glowing sword. They both looked about fifteen. The boy started yelling at the monster, but it had it's attention focused on Mr. Evans. It lunged. He slashed through Mr. Evans's chest, leaving a deep cut. I screamed, my eyes filling with tears.

The boy and girl ran towards me, probably to get me to safety, but I didn't want to go. I was angry. Angry at this monster, angry at the two kids, and angry at Mr. Evans for leaving me. I felt power coursing through me. The boy and girl, backed away, eyes wide in horror. I didn't care about them, all I cared about was killing this stupid thing. My hand closed around the dagger that Mr. Evans had dropped. I looked up,the darkness seemed to cloud around me. I attacked, swinging the blade wildly. After a minute or two of swiping the knife at nothing but air, the thing made it's mistake, it got to close. I grabbed it's hair on it's head and drove the knife down into it's skull. The thing was reduced to ashes, but I wasn't there to watch, I turned around to listen to Mr. Evans's last words.

"I'm so proud of you Kaftar," he said. My eyes were burning by this time. "Your father would be so proud."

"I don't have a father, you were the closest thing to a father to me," I replied through a bucketload of tears.

"No," he said in a soothing voice. "Your father is alive, you will meet him when you are ready." I nodded. "These two are here to bring you to a safe place, where if you are lucky, this will never happen again. Remember, the lord is always watching, bad things do happen, but it always turns out for the better."

Again, I was back to where I was two years ago, cradling the head of a loved one, killed because of me.

**Please review, I havent done a lot of Fanfics, and this is my first one that I actualy made up the storyline. Review!**

**KaftarNight **


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